Close Distance
by Milk and Glass
Summary: Addison/Derek one shot based on Tori Amos' China. Addison tries to bridge the growing gap in her marriage to Derek.


Maybe it was a general deconstruction of things

Maybe it was a general deconstruction of things. Maybe it was one big thing. Maybe it was the fact that he stopped looking at you, really looking at you, in the last few days. Either way, it's like a dried-up piece of fruit; the skin slid off. The juice dried up. And you were left desperately trying to force something to work when there was nothing there to work with.

And you weren't blameless. You could have tried harder, in the days after his father's death. You could have responded more; you could have asked him instead of letting yourself get caught up in your own life. Because he was so closed, he would never smile or talk, and the space in the bed between you seemed more than a mile long.

So it begins and ends, like anything always does, with a simple thing. You crossed your legs and checked your watch and smoothed your hair behind your ears as the plane lifted from the runway and rushed into the sky, far away from New York, closer to him and to resolution.

What you didn't know is that the distance would end up being too much, anyway.

_China all the way to New York_

_I can feel the distance getting close_

_You're right next to me_

_But I need an airplane_

_I can feel the distance as you breathe_

"Derek?"

His back is to you; he doesn't move from his hunched position over the laptop at the kitchen table. "What, Addison?"

His voice is flat, tired. You've been away on a conference in Chicago for a few days and you hoped that the space apart would trigger something inside him; maybe, just maybe, he'd miss you. You posted the number of the hotel on the refrigerator and left a message on the machine when you got into O'Hare International, but he hadn't called once. Not even a blinking light on your cell phone to let you know that he thought about you once in three fucking days.

"I'm home?" Your voice goes up at the end; you will him to just LOOK at you, but he doesn't raise his eyes.

"Hey," is all he says. You frown. "Derek?"

Finally, he looks up. "Addison, I'm in the middle of something here, okay. Give me about ten minutes and then you can tell me about your trip, all right?" His voice is slightly annoyed and your face closes.

You walk into the kitchen and set your purse gently on the granite counter, lost in thought. Then, suddenly, your temper takes over and you slam it on the counter, relishing the sound of your lipsticks and compact bashing cacophonically on the counter. From the other room, Derek looks up, startled.

"Addie? Are you okay?"

You take a minute, clench the counter, and blink slowly, twice. When you raise your head, your voice is calm.

"Yeah. I'm fine, honey."

_Sometimes I think you want me to touch you_

_How can I when you build a great wall around you_

_In your eyes, I saw a future together_

_You just look away in the distance_

At the dinner party, you sit quietly beside Derek as he jovially recounts a story from one of his latest surgeries. When the wife of the Chief of Staff asks him to dance, he whisks away without another thought, leaving you sitting awkwardly at the table.

Yes, you have your share of dances. Yes, you shouldn't care this much.

But just once, you wish that instead of ignoring you beside him, he'd actually ask you if you want more wine, or needed the salt or pepper.

Instead, he eats his dinner, laughs with his colleagues, and addresses cursory remarks to you while pouring himself another drink.

You see the stares of the curious medical professionals who have known you the whole ten years of your marriage and you want to slip through the floor.

Because he isn't angry at you. He's nothing towards you. There's nothing left of the him he was. And it's only getting worse.

_China decorates our table_

_Funny how the cracks don't seem to show_

_Pour the wine, dear_

_You say we'll take a holiday_

_But we never can agree on where to go_

In bed, he sleeps on his back, and you lay curled on your side, facing him.

"Derek?"

"Addie?"

The wine has made his voice more sonorous, filled with slightly more expression, and you smile tentatively in the dark.

"Hi." You snuggle close to him, and he bows his head; you can feel his stubble on your hair. He says nothing, but he kisses the top of your head, and you move your hand down his chest, under the waistband of his boxers.

But there's no answering stir; he just shakes his head. "No, not tonight, Addie."

And just like that, the little bridge you build falls. "Why?" You hear your voice sound plaintively; begging your husband for sex was something you never thought you'd hear yourself doing, but he closes his eyes.

"Tired," he mumbles, and you turn over. When he reaches for you, you stiffen, and he takes his arms away.

_Sometimes I think you want to me to touch you_

_How can I when you build a great wall around you_

_In your eyes I saw a future together_

_You just look away in the distance_

The night that you come to think of as "The Last Night" started out blandly. He read the paper, and you flipped through an old romance novel, one that a friend lent you and you'd been meaning to read. But your mind wasn't on the words; it was on your absent husband.

And suddenly, you throw the book down with such force that it actually dents the hardwood floor, and Derek looks up, his face angry.

"Addison, what the fuck are you doing?" His voice is startled and sharp, and you stand up, crushing the paper down.

"Pay attention! Pay attention to me!" You're seeing red; your voice cracks with the strain of seven months of absence. "You read and you sit and you never fucking look me in the eyes!"

His eyes are wide; confused, and angry. "What are you TALKING about?" He looks totally bewildered, which only proves to make you angrier. You push his chair, the arms, experimentally, and it moves back a few inches. He's never seen you this angry, and he's annoyed.

Immediately, he throws himself out of the chair, and you're forced to take a step back. He stands in front of you, all six feet, one inch, and stares you in the eyes. "You are acting totally inappropriately. I have no idea what the hell your problem is. When you figure it out, we'll talk." And instead of trying to figure it out by asking you, he just leaves. You hear the front door shut and you drop your head into the soft sofa pillows, and cry.

When you have your voice under control, you pick up the phone and call Mark.

/

After he leaves you, what you'll learn later is for the last time, you lie balled up on the bed, your clothes still damp, the smell of sex still in the air, and wonder.

Would he have reacted in a different way if he knew the whole truth?

_China all the way to New York_

_Maybe you got lost in Mexico_

_You're right next to me_

_I think that you can hear me_

_Funny how the distance learns to grow_

Seattle: city of rain. And it's more depressing as time goes on, because your hair just won't come right; you have a constant headache pounding behind your eyes, and you find yourself gazing hopelessly out of the window as you go about your job, avoid the eyes of the curious interns, and try to get your husband to respond.

It's obvious he loves someone else; it's obvious that she's on his mind. So you're not sure why he agrees to making your marriage work; maybe he realizes that he's been a prick the last few months. Maybe he realizes that when the air is constantly cold and wet, freezing someone out doesn't make too much more of a difference.

But the humidity gets into your sheets; into your clothes and between the layers of your skin and despite the passion you raise, fucking yourself into the trailer bed and arching your back, you can never seem to get a good orgasm. And he looks you in the eyes, now. But you're not reflected back like you used to be.

_Sometimes I think you want me to touch you_

_But how can I when you build a great wall around you_

The sun breaks through the clouds, the day you finalize the divorce papers. You take a walk by the lake outside the hospital and let the soft breeze blow your hair, and feel only a sense of total relief.

Because as he signed his name, he raised his eyes to yours. And this time, there was a spark of emotion in there. Regret, even.

It was dead in the water for a long time. You regret nothing.

Two weeks later, you're on the move again, this time for more sunshine.

It surprises you very little that he chooses to stay where the air is always grey.

_I can feel the distance getting close._


End file.
